Sergeant Peanut Butter is being fêted by the United Nations.

Bupbupbupbup.

MY WIFE.

I refuse to read the article revealing who the husband is.

Enjoy your marrow treat with extra-thick toenail.

Thank you. As you may have deduced, I spend most of my time italicizing elsewhere. Would you like a small dog.

She live-tweets everything. Ruined Downton Abbey for me.

I understand. Just know: you have disappointed all three of us.

Ouch.

Don't "bup-bup-bup" me.

Where were you on my first day as a detective.

I think you should drink the whole thing.

You're a grown man and a police sergeant.

All efforts to resuscitate it have been rejected by the host organism.

And now, News For the Hard of Hearing:

*disapprovingly amused stare*

I had a friend who was a big baseball player, back in high school. He could throw a speedball by you; make you look like a fool. I saw him the other day at this roadside bar. He was walking in, I was walking out. We went back inside, had a few drinks.

This announcement fills me with disgust. I call upon the anger and frustration of everyone who longs to cry out in unison "we will not watch."

If you cannot find joy in the melody of "Could You Be Loved", then there is something shriveled inside, where your soul should be.

I appreciate that Terry's pecs were Salt and Pepper, and also that he loves Peralta "like you're one of my daughters".